


Back to the Beginning

by aykayem



Series: Satisfaction [7]
Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 10:42:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aykayem/pseuds/aykayem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabelle has an excellent method of getting Magnus up in the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back to the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rayenbow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayenbow/gifts).



>  

It was early morning - too early, if Magnus had anything to say on the matter - and Isabelle was wide awake. Magnus was drifting in and out of sleep, rolling over and shifting every now and then, oblivious to the way his companion milled about in nothing but one of his discarded dress shirts and a pair of socks. She'd already done a brief bout of tai chi and swiped a slice of toast to nibble on before she padded back into the room at long last, met by a low, bleary groan from Magnus. All it took was the soft padding of footsteps coming back to his bed, and he knew that the jig was up. He had to wake up.

"Wakey wakey," Isabelle trilled softly - softer than he'd expected, to her credit. Her voice was barely audible through the pillow he'd pulled over his head. There was a movement around him, the mattress shifting, and he hesitantly started to move the pillow off of his face, one eye cracking open so he could peer at her. She straddled him, both hands on his chest; there was an expectant look on her face.

"I'm not getting up," he told her simply, bringing the pillow back down to cover up his face again. "You can't make me."

"I bet I can."

"I bet you can't."

She just laughed, the sound musical and joyous. Magnus always loved her laugh. There was something so innocent about it - it was amazing how one girl who had killed so many things, and lived life never knowing if she'd make it from one day to the next, could sound so happy all the time. He wished that more people made an attempt to be like her: he knew they would never quite get there, and couldn't hope to wish that more people were actually like her. It was impossible. There was only one Isabelle Lightwood, and she was in his bed.

The mattress shifted again beneath him, and the covers were casually tugged aside. He winced as the cool air hit his skin, raising gooseflesh; he hadn't worn anything when they fell asleep the night before. He pushed the pillow aside again, watching as she stretched up to her full height above him, then leaned forward. Her hands splayed against the wall just above the headboard, and she glanced down at him with a pleased smile, coy and innocent. Magnus glanced down a little bit, noticing that he had an excellent view up her shirt. Finally, he tossed the pillow aside completely, lifting one lazy hand to catch the hem of the shirt against the backs of his fingers, pulling the shirt further away from her body so he could better see the curves of milky skin, those few rare places where scars didn't mar her. The swell of her breasts slightly obscuring her face due to the angle, the flatness of her stomach-

His eyes lingered between her parted legs, and he let his hand drop from her shirt to her thigh, the other joining it to smooth up pale skin. Casually, his hands skimmed around to cup her ass, pulling her forward a little bit more; Isabelle fell forward in a controlled motion, her knees falling against the pillow. A smirk curved Magnus' mouth as the logic behind her standing up occurred to him; her core was now before him, beckoning. It wasn't like he was unwilling; he'd wanted to have her body against him anyway. There were few better ways he could think of waking up.

Magnus leaned upwards, shifting the way the pillow sat beneath his head, and pressed her forward a bit more so he wouldn't strain his neck; he pressed a kiss against her mound, tongue flicking out between her folds innocently enough. There was a small creak in the bed frame, her hands gripping the headboard tightly, and her posture reflected just what she thought of that: her hips eased forward more, better accommodating him, and her legs parted further. His mouth dropped lower, his tongue teasing her wet folds, wondering exactly what she was thinking about to get herself worked up already. He tasted and explored her with his mouth, acknowledging each and every soft noise he pulled from her as he ate her out, his hands cupping her ass tighter, drawing her closer to his face. Her hips had begun to rock, riding the way his tongue slipped inside her, the way his teeth grazed and nibbled at sensitive skin, pushing her closer and closer to climax with every exploratory action. He knew her body inside and out, knew exactly how she liked this.

It didn't take long. Her back arched, and Isabelle cried out, her hands whiteknuckling the headboard as she rocked hard against his mouth and tongue, riding out the orgasm that spilled over her. Magnus licked and teased her through it, his ministrations growing slower and more gentle until he returned to the beginning, moving back up to press another kiss against her clit, tongue flicking against it to watch as lingering spasms hit her. When she finally sat back, letting go of the bed frame to sit against his chest, another warm smile curved his mouth. Her face and chest were flushed, her nipples hard, and her breathing coming to her in soft pants. She was beautiful.

"You still didn't get me up."

"Au contraire," she told him, shooting him a grin in return before scooting back just a little, letting her hips rock against his, his cock hard where it slipped against her ass. She lifted her hips back up, bracing herself with her hands against his chest until she could feel the head of his length against her folds. One hand against his chest to brace, one hand to guide him inside her, and Isabelle slid down over him.

Maybe she _could_ make him.


End file.
